Oleoresin Capsicum
by Ice Queen1
Summary: During a sting, Neal gets caught in the crossfire. The end result is he would really, really prefer to get shot in the future. One swear word. I think...


Based on a recent experience that I felt needed to be shared with others. Because misery, dear children, loves company. Just so you know, there was a LOT more colorful language when I did this. For the record, OC spray SUCKS. Especially since our group got 10 times the lethal dose.

WCWCWCWC

Something wet splattered across his face. The warning came a split second too late.

"Shit! Neal! Don't open your eyes!" Jones's voice called above all the others.

Neal instinctively blinked, shaking his head to get the liquid off his face. He could feel it splatter above his forhead and down his cheeks, but the stream, whatever the hell it was, was directly across his eyes.

There was a second of being able to see perfectly fine, like it was nothing more than water and Neal's brain had less than a tenth of a second to wonder why in God's name someone had a water pistol at a sting operation, and saw the look on Jones's face, which looked like a sympathetic grimace.

And that's when Neal's eyes caught fire.

It was like someone had jammed a red hot poker into his eyes. Worse. Like someone had smeared alcohol across second degree burns across his face.

He raised his hands automatically to wipe it away from his face when someone grabbed his arms, pinning his hands to his sides.

"Get off me!" he shouted, trying frantically to get his hands loose from whoever the hell was holding on, twisting away from them while attempting to pull his hands out of their grip.

Handcuffs were easier to slip than human hands, and he just barely registered Jones's voice in his ear telling him to calm down.

"It's OC spray, Neal. Keep your hands away from your face and I'll let you go," Jones said, keeping his death grip on the other man's arms.

Neal was still shaking his head, trying to get the damn stuff off of him, and he wanted nothing more than to rub the crap out of his eyes.

"NEAL!" Jones tried again, this time, actually physically shaking him. "Do _not_ touch your face!"

"I need to get it out of my eyes," Neal protested.

"If you touch it, it will get all over your hands and then it'll _really_ hurt, ok? If you rub your eyes, you're going to just grind it into your skin or the soft tissue and it'll probably mean you have to wash it out at the hospital. Do you want that?"

Neal fought back a growl, but firmly kept his hands down at his sides, making a very, very concentrated effort to keep them there. His hands were clenched in fists, his nails biting into the soft part of his palm. He focused on that mild inconvenience instead of the horrible burning across his eyes.

"Jones!"

That was Peter's voice, and Neal instinctively turned towards him, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

"What the hell happened?" Peter asked, and Neal could feel an extra hand placed on his shoulder, turning him around towards Peter.

Jones finally let go of his arms, and Neal fought every instinct he had not to put them back up to his face.

"The LEO's didn't know he was one of us, Boss. He was next to the actual suspect and they got him right across his face."

Neal can imagine the look on Peter's face right now, and he smiles apologetically. "I'll call it even if we can get it off now. Cause it really, really fucking hurts," Neal said through gritted teeth.

"Jones, you said it was OC not pepper spray?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. The NYPD is in the process of changing over to use it instead of their normal pepper spray since it's more effective," Jones confirmed. "But you know what that means, right Peter?"

There's no response from Peter, and Neal can guess he simply nodded. "What does that mean?"

"It means you have to wash it off with a LOT of water," Peter explained. "Neal, you need to blink. If you keep your eyes shut, you're making it worse."

"I don't think that's possible," Neal said. His hands were beginning to shake from the effort of keeping them at his sides.

"Trust me," Jones said. "I had to get sprayed when I was in the Navy. It's counter intuitive, but you really need to blink so your eyes will tear up faster and wash it out."

Neal tried to open his eyes, but it was like they were fused shut. "I can't open them!"

"Yes, you can, it just feels like you can't. It's instinct, but Neal, you _have_ to open your eyes!" Peter coaxed.

Neal took a deep breath and tried to open his eyes again, managing barely a slit before slamming it shut again It felt like molten sand was in his eyes, and blinking just made it feel like he was scratching his eyeballs with every movement. "Where's the bastard that got me? I'm gonna hit him."

Peter gave a relieved laugh. "Be as sarcastic as you want, Neal. But believe me, if you blink, it'll be better for you. You'll reduce your chances of getting it stuck in the soft tissues of your eyes and making it worse."

"How can it get worse?" Neal could feel his nose starting to run and he immediately sniffed without thinking before Jones or Peter could warn him.

"ARG!" Neal cried, his hand coming up to his face, but this time to his nose. He hadn't realized how badly the stuff had spattered, and now it felt like it was searing its way towards his brain. "I feel like I just snorted lava!" he choked out, immediately doubling over. "It's even in my _mouth_!"

Neal spat on the ground, resisting the urge to use his sleeve to wipe at either his nose or his mouth to get rid of the taste of it. "This is what _burning_ tastes like!"

"I know, I know, but Neal…something you have to know before we get you to a hose," Peter said, his hand suddenly on Neal's back, very reassuring and comforting. That couldn't be good.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No, sorry, kiddo. It's water activated."

It took a second for that sentence to sink in. "What the fuck do you mean _activated_? It hurts _worse_ when you get it wet?"

"Yeah…it does," Jones said sympathetically.

"Not possible," Neal ground out, reflexively stomping his foot in aggravation and impotent rage at not being able to rub the OC spray off.

"Right now you just feel it on your eyes, right?" Peter asked.

"And up my nose and down my throat," Neal said.

"Yeah…you have it everywhere across your face, Neal. Some of it even got in your ears."

"Let's get you outside. There's a hose attached to the patio faucet. Your suit is gonna be ruined though," Peter said.

"My _eyes_ are ruined," Neal growled. His voice was actually beginning to fade in and out as he tried not to choke, or breathe anymore than absolutely necessary now that the OC was up his nose and down his throat. "Fuck the suit."

Peter actually laughed. "Now I _know_ you're in pain. Come on, out to the patio. We're gonna need soap though…"

"It doesn't even wash out like normal pepper spray? Who invented this shit?" Neal whined, tilting his face down towards the floor to get it to try and drip out of his eyes.

"It's primarily used by the Navy's Master-at-Arms force. It's oil based, which is why you need soap – problem, because you have it in your eyes, and I don't know many soaps outside baby soap that doesn't burn even more when you put it directly in your eyes like you have it."

"I'd rather be shot. Why is it getting hotter?" Neal made to wipe against his cheek but Peter caught his hand again and led him around the corner of the house. To his credit, Peter didn't let Neal stumble over the threshold or the cobblestones

"Heat makes it worse too," Peter explained. "The sun is out, and it's hitting your face right now."

"Does _everything_ make it worse?"

"Baby shampoo and enough water to make Niagara Falls look like a leaky faucet." Jones was back, and he sounded a little out of breath.

Neal tried blinking again and it was like trying to open his eyes in a furnace.

"Where in the hell did you find baby shampoo?" Peter asked.

"I don't care if he made a pact with Satan to get it, give it to me so I can get this off!" Neal coughed, and wound up inhaling even more of it.

Peter tried to stifle a laugh, and Neal took an angry, blind swipe at him and was mildly surprised when he heard Peter's "oof" in response.

"Serves you right. Next time I'll aim lower," Neal threatened.

He heard Jones snicker, and then the squeak of the faucet being turned on and the welcome splash of water.

"Bend over as far as you can," Peter advised.

"You know, I went my whole prison sentence without EVER hearing those words?" Neal groused, but obeyed the request.

"It's so when we wash it off, we don't just wash it down your chest and make it worse than just your face. On the count of three, hold your breath and open your eyes as much as you can. One…two…three."

There was a suddenly, welcome burst of cold water across his face and Neal gasped at the temperature. For the first time in what felt like years, he managed to blink his eyes open against the stream of cold water.

"Stay bent over – but here's the shampoo. Rub it anywhere you feel like it's burning," Peter advised, and the water was gone.

"Burning?" Neal gasped, blinking his eyes rapidly. His vision was still blurred, and it still felt like he had sand stuck in his eyes. "It doesn't feel too bad…ow…owowowowowowowowowow…." Neal grabbed the soap from Peter and poured it into his hands, slathering it everywhere he could reach on his face.

"Spoke too soon, huh? You missed a spot on your right ear," Peter said. "I told you, it's water activated. Now you're feeling _everywhere_ it got on you."

"Oh, shut up. Why don't you help?"

"And get it all over my hands? Ha! I've had that crap in my eyes before, and I'll take a bullet for you kid, but not OC spray."

Jones snorted. "I had to requalify four times in three different stages. I'm done. You're getting most of it off though. Just keep scrubbing. It'll take about three tries to scrub everything off."

They repeated the process about another half dozen times, with Neal able to open his eyes slightly more with each repetition.

"I think that's most of it," Peter said, and handed Neal a set of sunglasses. Cheap, but practical, and Neal wasn't about to snub anything that blocked out the punishing sun.

"You might have a couple of reflashes, but don't wash your face in the shower tonight without scrubbing off another couple of times in the sink with more baby shampoo." Peter grimaced. "God, you look terrible."

"My face feels like steak au poivre. Or, alternatively, like someone set a hedgehog on fire and then scrubbed my face with it."

"My instructor described it like Satan pissed in your eyes, but sure, I'll go with your description," Jones said. "You're so pale though, you can see where it got you."

Neal turned to look at his reflection in the window behind him, and of what he could see, it wasn't pretty. Violent red splotches that looked like chemical burns decorated around his eyes, down one side of his neck where it started to drip while washing it off, and up to his ears. "I look like I head butted Johnny Storm."

"You'll get lots of sympathy from El at home. Let's go. And you're going to want to get out of those clothes, just in case you got any OC on those and it starts to rain or something, knowing your luck."

Neal grimaced, and pulled the sunglasses down, checking if he could see without them. For a moment, he was okay, but then they started to burn again, and he hissed. "All I want is an ice pack, and no daylight. And to drop kick the guy who sprayed me."

Peter chuckled, and steered him towards the car. "You know, you were standing right next to the guy. Maybe he got you by accident."

"Then he'll get to have an accident of his own," Neal grumbled.

"You're cranky when you're in pain. You need a nap, too?" Peter said.

"I'm telling El on you."

"No need to do anything rash!"

Neal paused, before risking a glance over the rims of his glasses to make sure Peter was paying attention. "With all seriousness though, Peter?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I really, really prefer getting shot."

Peter laughed. "I wouldn't let too many people hear that Neal…you never know who's out there."

WCWCWCWC

Okay, Author's Note time. Yes, we really do get sprayed in the eyes with OC spray, and my class had 10x the legal dosage. So where most people are like "ow, this hurts" we were more like "?" I just felt like writing a non serious hurt/comfort piece, because I wanted someone else to share in my misery. It took HOURS to stop getting reflashes – you couldn't touch your face, you couldn't wash your hands, and it felt like someone had ground molten sand into the corners of your eyes, which if you rubbed, would start to burn all over again. I had burn marks for days afterwards because I'm so pale, like Neal. Anyway, thoughts/comments/criticism always welcome! LET ME KNOW YOU READ! :-D


End file.
